


Crash, Derail, Burn

by zovinar



Category: D.Gray-man, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Crack Treated Seriously, Crossover, Dramedy, Ensemble Cast, Fix-It, Gen, Humor, It's perfect, No Angst, Reincarnation, hoshino let them rest, hoshino please, really these kids need a break, seriously no angst, solely because it's not tossing the dgm kids through walls every chapter, sorry kanda here comes round three, uh minor warning for the kids being morbid and fatalistic little shits, weird ass nonsense, which is a term i have only learned recently
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-11
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2018-10-30 17:23:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10881471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zovinar/pseuds/zovinar
Summary: Tony’s not sure how he ended up tripping over all these kids but he sure as hell isn't gonna let it cramp his style. Besides they’re only annoying sometimes.On the other hand, the little maniacs might as well just drive a semi into the side of the tower and be done with it.





	1. Roll With It

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Cosmic Composite](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4737428) by [liketolaugh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/liketolaugh/pseuds/liketolaugh). 



> Idea definitely from liketolaugh’s work but, rather than following along the same vein, I’m more or less mugging them for premise and running off in the opposite direction. Familiarity with Cosmic Composite might act as a background for what I’m messing with here but this 95% less kid fic and 300% more mayhem via tiny overpowered teens.
> 
> Picking up just a bit after The Avengers but basically plays fast and loose with continuity and cannon from there on out: because seriously these kids. Also because I feel like it, but really, just expect me to take a crowbar to everything in MCU continuity after the entry point; it’s safer. 
> 
> I’m not gonna even touch dgm’s hellhole of a plot but just assume all character notes up through chapter 220 are taken into account even if not incorporated.
> 
> Title nabbed from Ian Macfarlane’s _Railway Safety: Rolling Stock, Crash, Derail, Burn_ which is a book about train accidents. And if that’s not appropriate, I don't know what is.
> 
> Beta on and off by aru, who probably just wants me to stop talking to them about dgm consistently, but was still willing to fight me about commas.

When Pepper asked him for a favor this is absolutely not what he was expecting.

Sure, she’s off doing all the heavy lifting with the company—because she’s obviously the better choice for that and is hyper-competent at it and enjoys the work and Tony should have thought of this years ago, seriously—while he gets to spend all the time he wants in his lab and R&D. That is, when he’s not fulfilling his civic duty of saving the world every day and twice on Thursdays (stocks and revenue are up along with their production timeline and _why didn’t he think of this sooner)_.

But.

But he really didn’t think he'd end up playing house-husband for her nephew.

“JARVIS, why are they even releasing this kid into my custody; everyone from Fury to that grandma over there knows this is a terrible idea.” He’s not whining, not yet, but he is really, really, confused. “Hell, even the kid probably knows it.”

«Sir, it is public knowledge that you and Ms. Potts are engaged in some form of a relationship. Specifically, the fact that your domestic partnership is generally interpreted to be more romantic in nature may be an influencing factor»

“Whatever. Let’s just keep it like that then.” He sighs and starts shuffling papers. If Pep wants him to look after the kid, he’ll do it. He owes her.

“Jeez, what does this even say?” Now he’s definitely whining but, seriously, the paperwork is half illegible, he’s allowed to be petulant. “JARVIS, who gave me untranslated documents? Who would think that's a good idea? God, I can’t read this, Rabi? Rav—?”

“Lavi.”

Tony hates being startled, mostly because it makes him do dumb shit. As it is, the sudden comment shocks him enough to make him smack his knee into the table leg. Ow. Also, there are papers everywhere now. He doesn't even want to pick them up; he just kinda wants to burn them. It’s not like he can really even read most of them anyway.

“It's Lavi.”

Oh shit. It’s The Kid. Shit, he even looks like Pepper. He knows he’s gaping a little but really, The Kid looks just like a mini her. Well, if he was looking through a filter. Jeez, he’s gonna need sunglasses if he wants to look at him for any length of time. That shade of red is deafening and he’s never seen eyes that green bef—shit wait. “What’s wrong with your eye?”

The Kid reaches up to the bandages covering his right eye, then tilts his head, eyeing Tony with a sort of bemused humor. “I think I should go first, right? Last I checked I’m supposed to meet Aunt Virginia here and you’re obviously not her.”

“Uh, no kid I’m—”

“Tony Stark, I know that at least,” The Kid—Lavi—interrupts. “My home might be a hole in the ground now but I certainly didn't grow up in one.” And, ouch, that's way more morbid than he expected from someone that tiny. He knows he certainly wouldn't be smiling so placidly through stuff like that when he was age. Which is, uh, ten? He _really_ wants to set all that shitty paperwork on fire now. Whatever, he’ll just let JARVIS take care of it.

“Pepper, er, Virginia Potts? She was kinda working for me for a while. I, uh, literally just made her my CEO.” It sounds weird when he says it like that, but still, _best idea_. “She’s dealing with some bullsh—um, some stuff? So she asked me to keep an eye on you.” Oh god he’s embarrassing himself in front of a tiny child; this is terrible.

“Ah,” why is this kid still smiling, “okay.”

“Whatever, just, come over here and tell me your last name will ya? There’s no way I’m trying to pronounce that.”

“Bookman”

Wait, “what?” He’s still smiling augh.

“Bookman.”

“Look kid, I can barely read these but I know that's not what was it was. Did someone fudge your papers or something? My records need to be accurate.”

Now he looks a bit curious but he’s _still smiling. Why._ “Can you?”

What? Oh god wait does he want Tony to _forge his documents?_ What the hell.

“Please.” The Ki– _Lavi_ looks somewhere between sad and reminiscent. It’s a weird look for a kid’s face. Weird yet convincing. Especially after all that smiling.

“I’ll see what I can do—legally mind you.” At least at first. He’ll pass that bridge when he gets there. “Any particular reason?”

“Ah.” Annnnd it’s back. Just as wide and with ‘I know something you don’t’ tucked in the corners. “My grandfather.”

At this point, he’d almost put bets on the kid trying to utterly befuddle him using the fewest words possible.

He recognizes the hint of a shit-eating grin— _he recognizes it from his own mirror_ —this is gonna suck.

“Ok, but seriously, what’s wrong with your face?”

 

* * *

 

Greg is worried. Very worried. He thinks he’s earned it though. After all, he’s watching a kid chat with a mobster in his bar. This tiny slip of a kid with a smile like the sun is swinging his legs while he sits on a bar stool right across from the worst name on the block. Very worrying.

He’s been here a few days, no idea why, and he’s spent most of them talking to toughs in his bar as they teach him how to play cards. The kid’s abysmal at poker from what he’s seen but the mob seems fond of him despite that. Very, very, worrying.

His current teacher seems to be showing him how to bridge and the kid’s hands are clumsy as he shuffles.

“Gentle, kid, gentle. Steady and not too fast, ahh there you go little Red.”

“Thanks so much for showing me Mister; you’re a really good teacher!”

He’s extremely worried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’re just getting the pieces into place, so segments will be more like snippets until we can really rev. Update times will be pretty irregular for now; I’ll do my best but /shrugs
> 
> I know I mentioned “no angst” at the top but the avengers will really have some issues while running around and trying to figure out why these kids are so fucked up. Basically: honey, the kids are alright but the adults are very, very, confused.
> 
> Also, you may have noticed that my notes sometimes get pretty long and don't feel obligated to read them? I'm chatty as _fuck_ and will literally talk about almost everything if you wanna; discourse is rad!


	2. Vintage Works

“Rhodey this kid is seriously weird,” Tony mutters into his mug. This is the fourth time Rhodey’s been over, not even mentioning the phone calls, but he's not really ashamed about requesting reinforcements. Tony’s fine with things blowing up in his face, but collateral damage isn’t really his thing. Also Pepper would kill him. “Is this normal? It can’t be. Thirteen-year-olds don’t do this.”

“Tony, you didn’t know _anything_ about thirteen-year-olds three weeks ago.” Rhodey’s being really good about this entire thing, but he could do with less sass. JARVIS never sasses him like this.

“Yeah, yeah. Research is a thing y’know. Besides I’ve got a bit more time to do shit with Pep at the reins.” Rhodey snorts a little at that. “Hey, I’m trying! But I’m getting worried. This doesn’t feel right; I mean, he doesn't want anything! And he barely does anything besides, read, eat, and sleep.” Sometimes he also catches the kid scribbling in his journal. Tony has no idea where that thing came from, but it’s huge and leatherbound and doesn't look like it would have fit in the kid’s bag. _Where did it come from?_ “I guess he writes sometimes? But he’s like a ghost. Fades into the background. And he’s always _watching_ everything.”

Rhodey deflates at that, looking a little rueful. But mostly sad. Shit. “Yeah, ok, maybe not normal for thirteen-year-olds. But Tony, nothing about his situation is normal. He was living in a semi-active war zone and then his home and neighborhood got bombed. Just about all the people he knew and the things that he had are gone.” Rhodey grimaces a little there. “For kids like that? This _is_ pretty normal.”

Great. What a mood killer. Oh but it looks like he’s not done. Rhodey’s gonna tell him  _more_ depressing shit.

“In that type of environment, they grow up hard and fast or not at all. It doesn't help that he has a photographic memory.”

“Eidetic”

“Whatever Tony. That’s not the point.”

There’s a pause while they both frown into their mugs.

God Tony wants a drink. He’s been cutting back with the kid here and all because, yeah Pepper would be mad, but he’d also be pissed at himself if anything happened. Despite comments to the contrary, he can’t actually leave this to JARVIS. He’s trying but…

He drops his head into his hands. Right now he really wants a drink. Shit.

“He still not letting the docs look at his eye?”

“I wish. Keeps saying it’s fine but won't take off the bandages.” Not that Tony can talk, he’s been dodging medical staff since he could walk. “He did say something about it being hypersensitive now? Not really damaged but not useable either. JARVIS’s scans aren’t showing any issues and he seems fine with walking around without his depth perception so I’ll just leave it be. You know, space and shit.”

Rhodey seems pleased at the idea that Tony’s respecting the kid’s privacy but Rhodey should also just shut up. Tony might be a nosy dick, but he knows about giving people space. Especially kids.

“Let him use the gym if he wants. Training, sports, routines, those can help him work through this. Maybe ask if he wants to learn a self-defense discipline? Being able to protect himself, that should help.”

“Hm.” That actually might. God knows the first thing Tony did when he got back from his whatever was to build a highly sophisticated and dangerous suit of armor. “Yeah, Nat’s out right now but she’d probably be willing to teach the kid something.” Maybe they can bond over having fluorescent hair or something. “No idea when she’ll show up though.”

“What, really?” Rhodey chuckles, “you don't have them all tagged so you can keep an eye on ‘em?”

“Rhodey, buddy, do you really think I’m gonna track the super secret spy while she’s on her super secret mission arranged by a super secret agency?”

Rhodey just raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, and that’s really stopping you?”

Tony sighs. “She lives in my house and Romanoff _always knows._ ”

Rhodey laughs at him. The dick.

 

* * *

 

Three days later, Lavi corners him in the kitchen while he’s still in the midst of his pre-coffee haze.

“Good morning!”

Tony squints over the mug. It’s times like this that he most believes that this kid is related to Pepper. He’s doing it with a smile, not a frown, but Tony is absolutely sure he’s not leaving this room until Lavi gets what he wants.

“Thanks for the eyepatch! It was really nice to take those bandages off.” The kid beams at him.

Tony takes a sip of coffee. It’s way too early for how chipper Lavi is.

“I heard you a few days earlier,” Tony chokes a bit, “and I’d really like to use the gym! I’m a bit behind on my practice as it is.” _This kid._

“That’s, uh, fine?” Tony’s still playing catch up. “Don’t you need, um…stuff though? Workout shit?”

“Something other than normal clothes?” He looks curious but it’s still half ‘n’ half whether Lavi’s fucking with him or if he actually doesn’t know.

“Yeah, they make a bunch of shit for that. More flexible, breathes better, that kind of thing. I’ve got all the gear you could dream of but clothes for tiny people wasn’t ever on my list” _Brain please load faster._ “We could…get some? If you want.”

Lavi’s face lights up again, smile replaced by a wide grin. “Does that mean we can go shopping?”

Oh no.

 

* * *

 

“Boss, maybe you shouldn't have let the kid off the chain with your card.” Happy looks dwarfed by the number of bags he’s carrying. He dumps them all in the sitting room and goes back for more. The bags teeter and ingloriously spill at Tony’s feet.

The number of clothes would seem excessive if he didn't know the kid had no wardrobe to speak of, but it’s still a lot. Jackets, shorts, shirts, combat boots, sneakers, gloves, those weird things people use to put up their hair when they jog, and, it looks like, a million scarves.

It’s summer.

It also looks like someone looted Barnes & Noble. Piles of history books interspersed with everything from comics to compendiums. A stack of journals is topped with a bag full of pens, all of them different. Even a couple of bibles are in the mix. (Wasn’t Lavi supposed to be Jewish or something? Whatever, doesn’t matter.)

Well. Tony _was_ complaining ‘bout the kid not wanting anything.

Lavi finally strolls in holding a bag full of what looks like a mixture of at least twenty stuffed pandas and rabbits. Ok. He looks especially smug—maybe it’s because he somehow convinced someone to pierce his ears; don't you need a waiver to do that if you’re underage? And yet the kid now has a glinting stud on each side.

Actually, with that and the eyepatch, he almost looks like a pirate.

Lavi grins at him and tosses Tony a small packet as he makes his way to his room. They’re gold hoop earrings with a wide band. Pirate earrings.

Goddamn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tony might as well start crying over his bank account now. It's just gonna get worse.


	3. Order, Family, Genus

“Hey.”

Link has had a long day. Sure, he’s had longer, but that doesn't mean that he can't be done with this particular day. He’s earned it. This has been very much not his day.

“ _Hey_.”

It really doesn’t matter if anyone else is trying to talk to Link today. He’s going to the group home and laying face down on his bed. In the dark. As soon as he can bring himself to get up from this bench. He desperately hopes none of the younger kids want his attention or that he’s expected to make dinner because right now he really can’t. He’s done.

“Hey, I beat them up for you.”

He turns, startled. There is a tiny child staring at him. Her dress is covered in bows and frills and her backpack is bright purple. She’s practically the definition of “cute as a button”. There is a butterfly clip keeping her hair out of her face. She is adorable. She also has bloody knuckles and scraped knees. That isn’t why Link is gaping.

“What?” He might be hallucinating. He’s probably hallucinating.

“They were calling your hair girly, which is dumb ‘cause it’s not. It’s pretty. They didn’t get it so I beat them up.”

Link may be going into shock

She steps up a bit closer to peer at his face and frowns a bit. “Are you ok? They weren’t that mean, were they? I can go punch them s’more if you want.” That is entirely not the problem, but she looks ready to haul off and go for round two anyway.

“Wait, Miss Lee, what—”

“Lenalee”

Shocked into silence again. He’s practically having a staring contest with an eleven-year-old now this is very weird. What on earth?

“You’re too little to sound that formal,” she chides. Lenalee Lee, magically appearing grade schooler of doom, is smiling at him. Indulgently.

“Lenalee I—how?” He is really, really, confused.

Her expression a bit darkens at that. “I was never as good as Kanda or Marie but…” she trails off, biting her lip, “I could still tell.” And then she reaches up to gently press her fingertips against the center of Link’s chest. Right over the mark. Atuuda’s mark.

He could feel it humming through his veins even now— _because it was still there, still there_ —and that's how he’d had known. “It wasn't a dream.” His voice comes out in a hushed breath; incredulous even now.

“Silly, did you think you were alone? Whatever this is, wherever this is, we wouldn’t leave you behind now.”

“Why not?” They were never that close; he was pretty sure she hadn’t liked him at all back at the order, even if she was cordial.

And yet, at this she grabs his collar and drags him down. Her face is at its most serious. The face she wore against the Vatican, against the Earl. She is passing judgment on him.

“You are part of my family too.” It is a proclamation that an eleven-year-old Lenalee Lee delivers staring him straight in the eye.

Yeah, no. He’s still in shock.

She huffs at him, leaning back and tugging on her backpack straps. “Hey, you can come over to my house right?”

When he just stares at her, Lenalee boops him on the nose, impatient.

“Come on, Mom said she’d make cookies today.” Her entire face lights up with a grin and she grabs his hand to drag him along. “Maybe she’ll let us make them instead!”

The day feels longer than ever but, maybe, a bit less bad now.

 

* * *

 

Lenalee munches on a cookie as she thinks. They’re amazing and delicious because Link is the best at sweets— _best_ —but not quite good enough to distract her.

Link’s acting odd. Allen would probably know what was actually bothering him, but all Lenalee can see is that he seems…skittish.

If she’d take a guess, she'd say that this might have been how he was before the Order. Link always liked devoting himself to a cause so he’s probably been floundering a little. And, well, despite being in the situation that required him to follow Allen from his room to his bath, Link’s a private person. Being stuck in a house with so many other people can be really stifling.

The foster care system is leagues better than letting children starve in the streets, but that doesn’t mean the experience was necessarily pleasant. Still, at least they didn’t strap her down or anything. Small favors.

“Oh!” She jumps her feet, she forgot, “you can’t have cookies without milk!”

Link looks up from his plate, frowning and starting to stand as well. “I can get—”

Lenalee shoves him back onto the couch with a smile. Idiot. God, he’s almost as bad at taking care of himself as Allen. She gives him an absent-minded pat on the head as she makes her way to the kitchen.

When she plops his glass on the table she gets a better look at his face. He looks ashamed. Oh jeez, is he still hung up on that?

“You know none of us ever blamed you, right?”

He won't meet her eyes. “You should, it was all my fault.”

Lenalee reaches over to sharply tug a lock of hair and he, predictably, yelps. Good, that always worked for getting Kanda’s attention too.

“If any of us did, we forgave you. And everything worked out in the end, right?”

“I still made it _worse._ ”

Fuck he has a guilt complex, no wonder he got along so well with Mister Martyrdom. Ok, this calls for cuddles, not cookies. She slides the short table out of the way so she can climb up on the couch and wrap her arms around his neck.

“You never wanted to hurt Allen; you never wanted to hurt  _anyone_. Link, you cared about us. You worried about us and tried to help us in the small ways you could and, Link, that’s all that ever mattered to me.”

“I’m sorry, I—this, I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you, Link. I forgive you.”

Link seems to relax into her hold and then, tentatively, hugs her back.

Good.

 

* * *

 

“You should move in with us.”

Lenalee graciously pats Link on the back while he hacks up a chunk of chocolate chip cookie.

_“What?”_

“Mom and Dad already got me and they’re nice, they wouldn’t mind.”

“You can’t just ask someone to—”

Lenalee crosses her arms imperiously. “This isn’t your decision, it’s _mine._ Mom likes you already and Dad always listens to her.” She leans over to rest her head on his shoulder. “Besides, I’m not losing anyone ever again.”

When she reaches down to hold his hand, he grips back tightly. He’s tired of losing people too.

“It works ‘cause Mom’ll let me go places with you instead; then I can start training again.”

“Is that necessary?”

In response, she holds up a bare ankle. It looks more like a faint scar than the deep cuts from before, but the marks from her Innocence are still there.

Ah. Well then.

“Exorcists,” he mutters under his breath. Even half dead it’s all they wanted to do when they weren’t in the field. Everyone thought Walker and Kanda were the worst, but he knows that’s only because Lenalee couldn’t actually use the training rooms for much without half destroying them.

He sighs and she beams at him. Going against her is like trying to fight a truck and she knows it.

“Very well.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Link spent fourteen years being Kinda Not Ok and Lenalee is determined to fix that. Also, yes, she is the imperial princess of this household.
> 
> Lena and Link actually match each other pretty well: they’re both fiercely loyal and willing to do anything that they deem necessary to their goals.
> 
> Link's probably more polite about it though.


	4. Run Before You Walk

“Augh!” Tony’s entirely sure that Barton and Natasha do this to fuck with him. Only him! “Where the hell did you come from? Why do you have to just stand behind me like that?” He may be the easiest to pull this on but, seriously, they need to get a hobby. “How long have you even been there?” He’s so done with this.

Clint ignores him because why not.

“Why is your kid training like that” The question is pointed even as he stares at Lavi through the glass walls that partition the gym.

Now’s Tony’s turn to ignore a question; he’s really distracted by the medical tape and minor facial burns. “The hell happened to you? I didn’t hear about an op.”

“Dustup in Italy. Tony. Kid. Why.”

“Like what Barton—oh god is your wrist _broken?”_

He grimaces at that. “Something was stirring up the families. It was just some clean up though. Damage control.” Barton’s eyes skate back to Lavi who’s working through one of the Tai Chi forms Natasha was teaching him; the one with the staff. “How long has he been doing this?”

“Barton, I still don't know what _this_ is.”

“It’s…” Barton pauses and frowns. “It’s perfect.”

“What does that even mean.”

Clint steps back slightly to give Tony his full attention. He looks unsettled. “His routine, his regiment. I’ve looked at the charts he worked up and I’ve been keeping an eye on him. He’s doing a lot of stuff and he’s thirteen, sometimes kids that age can overdo it, y’know? End up with a lot of short and long-term damage.” His brow furrows, “but he’s not. Calisthenics, Krav Maga, Tai Chi, swimming, cycling, yoga. Strength, endurance, flexibility, muscle memory.”

“It is a lot, I suppose. He seems to be handling it well though, you gotta admit.”

“Tony, there should be  _no_ way a kid can do all of that without hurting themselves. But he… He seems fine. Everything balances out so that his workout can be as efficient as possible without pushing it too far.” Barton pulls a face. “I’d say the weirdest thing is that he knows all this shit cold but, his memory is something else huh?”

They both look over at Lavi where he’s going through the motions of the form agonizingly slow. Tony knows that kind of training is highly strenuous, hurts like a bitch actually, but Lavi just looks relaxed; focused but with his eyes closed.

“He looks like a child training for war.” Clint’s comment is a soft and absolutely heart stopping.

It’s now Tony’s turn to grimace. “Well, he’ll certainly be ready if he ends up in the middle of another.”

 

* * *

 

_Step, shift, strike._

Lavi can just catch the edge of the conversation through the glass. Keeping track of who said what, when, and why is more habit than anything else but it’s still helpful.

At least now he can train as much as he’s used to. Being out of practice was making him twitchy.

He knows they're mostly letting him do this because they think he's some sort of traumatized child and, honestly? They're not entirely wrong, even if it's not for the reasons they think. Still, he's had time to deal with everything from before and nothing in this world holds a candle to back then.

Lavi’s dealing with it. Dealt with it to be more precise; he's had practice with watching, waiting, and remaking himself as needed. Not that there’s been much need. It may not be some sort of flourishing utopia but even the air here feels lighter.

_Brace, pause, sweep._

If Lena’s here also, she’d be freaking out at first; she's always had a hard time processing emotions. After she decides how she feels, she’ll be fine. Lenalee never does things halfway.

Actually, Kanda’d probably be handling this the best. He's got some sort of prior experience and he's the type to take these things in stride. Any sort of thing really, Kanda’s always known that denial gets people killed pretty fast. He’d still be pissed though.

Allen’s not even mentionable. He fucking sucks at compartmentalization. Also, his coping mechanisms are absolute nonsense, he’d probably rob a bank or something as soon as he was able.

_Breathe, fall back, block, sidestep, strike._

He really hopes they're here too. He thinks the brightness of this world would do them good.

 

* * *

 

Clint slumps a bit at the table. Right now even eating with one hand held captive is giving him grief. He may be a bit more tired than he’d let on. On the other hand, Stark seems to be multitasking fine: checking over Clint’s wrist and getting a report from JARVIS all while not neglecting his own bowl. Even the kid came out for lunch, following the smell of fresh curry and bread.

With Lavi here, it feels more like a home than a crash pad, cinnamon and spices in the air from the lunch that Stark had actually made himself. He has to deliberately remind himself to keep his hands still when he talks, the atmosphere taking off the edge. It almost reminds him of his sister’s place.

Also, his wrist _is_ broken, Tony would pitch a fit.

Parsing JARVIS’s sit-rep on the Avengers is a bit too much for him—something about Steve running around DC low-key (yeah right) and Banner wrapping up some on-site tests—but the kid seems to be hanging on to that even with his gaze occasionally sliding to Clint. He has no idea what the kid’s looking for but, he agrees with Nat, it’s unsettlingly familiar. More like Tony’s than Hill or Fury but it feels like he’s being cataloged.

He also could care less right now, Stark got him a loft and he’s gonna fucking use it. He already checked in so he can crash for three hours before his debrief with Coulson.

He’s finished with his food but a tug reveals that Tony isn’t quite ready to relinquish his model.

“If you want that much time with it, at least put a ring on it Stark.”

Tony responds by asking JARVIS to put on Beyoncé.

That’s fine with him, if Tony wants to make a better brace Clint’s happy to play visual aid, he hates being out of commission. But still Stark, at least let a man get a refill.

A fork sliding across the table gets his attention back on the kid. Lavi quirks his head to the side and meets his eyes steadily then moves his hands into a very familiar ready position.

 _Want me to get you more?_ He signs, hands steady and sure.

Oh, _wow_ this kid is good. He can’t quite keep his surprise off his face and Lavi grins at him, amused and mischievous. Clint nudges his bowl over with a chuckle and signs back.

_Sure thing kid._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise, 616 Clint wears a hearing aid!  
>   
> [It’s actually really cute.](https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-AApc-Xc_d-8/VAsrrUyf-jI/AAAAAAAEuiM/I6rwNcK5LYE/s1600/-007.jpg)  
> 


	5. What the Cat Dragged In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no I’m totally not working on another fic. that would be dumb.
> 
> on a completely unrelated and entirely non-tangential note, tales of berseria has been actively ruining my life for the last two months over a span of about 250+ hours. I irrevocably blame aru for getting me involved with this runaway shitshow of a tragic prequel. rip.
> 
> vengeance is sweet though because now I wont stop talking to her about these doomed self-centered assholes on a revenge tear through the entire fucking countryside. also that thing with eizen is never not going to be upsetting.
> 
> extra shout out to commenters for reminding me there was something I could do with my time other than grinding my way through 1.5k grade on my first go around which is more than enough buy out the shop. oof.

“Agent Coulson, are you sure?”

“Yes, Captain I,” Steve hears a series muffled thumps and a sharp crack that may have been a gunshot, “I—hm. I’m quite sure that SHIELD will not be able to accommodate you at the moment.”

“Is there anything I need to know, anyway I can help?” Steve asks, then has a thought. “Does it have anything to do with yesterday’s big crime ring bust in Vienna?”

“Mm no, just some internal affairs,” Coulson muses with what might be screaming in the background. “Unfortunately, while this gets smoothed over, I’ll have to ask you to stay at an alternate location.”

Steve frowns. “That’s fine,” he shifts his bag on his shoulder, “I can rent a room, come in tomorrow—”

“I’ve sent a car for you.” Coulson’s words are calm and measured despite the harsh metallic screech Steve can hear through the phone. “Agent Shahinian will take you to a secure location.”

And just like clockwork, a nondescript car pulls up to the curb; the woman behind the wheel, probably a junior agent, gives Steve a nod.

“Apologies, Captain—” the ringing sound of several explosives going off “—we should wrap this up soon enough. If it helps, you’ll be able to touch base with Agent Romanoff while you’re there. She just came in,” he huffs out a laugh, “from Vienna.”

Steve pulls open the door and gives a smile to the driver before settling down, shifting his bag to the floor and resting his shield next to him. “While I’m where?”

“Stark Tower”

“…What?”

 

* * *

 

“Woah, walking wounded.”

Steve stumbles to a halt in the doorway because naturally, he can't get two feet into Tony Stark's place without being questioned. Except…maybe not from a kid. There’s a boy—a teenager?—five foot plus change with screaming red hair that’s down and damp. And an eye patch.

“Sorry, I don't think we've met?”

“Lavi. You're bleeding.” He’s not even meeting Steve's eyes, just staring at the seeping splotch of red growing on Steve’s side.

“It's nothing bad.”

Lavi ignores that, looking up at the ceiling. “Thanks for letting me know, JARVIS. I'll take care of it.” He sighs then glances at Steve out of the corner of his eye. “Come in, I’ll fix you up. Try not to get any blood on Tony’s favorite rug, yeah?

He laughs when Steve scrambles off the, admittedly nice looking, rug.

“Don’t worry. I’m pretty sure he just has it out there so he can do that to people. Anyway, it’s his second favorite rug.” Then Lavi frowns. “Wait, is that a puncture wound? How deep?”

Steve stares. “It’s fine, I can take care of it,” he says haltingly, “it’ll heal up soon enough anyway, you don’t have to bother.”

“Dude, no.” Lavi scoffs, “I’ve heard about your shtick. Lemme at least make sure it’s clear of junk before you have to dig it out.”

Steve’s hand drifts to the gash just below his ribs. It’s not _that_ bad. Probably.

“You’re lucky I just finished my shower or JARVIS would’ve had to wake up  _Natasha_.”

Steve raises an incredulous brow but the kid just laughs and waves him in.

 

* * *

 

“Right, all done!” Lavi chirps as he snips the thread from the last stitch. “You should try and sleep it off in your room. JARVIS’ll have to show you there, I’ve still got things to take care of in the gym.” He winks, Steve’s _pretty_ sure he winks, “cleanliness is next to Godliness!”

Steve just blinks at him. “Stark has a room for me?”

The kid laughs as he lightly tapes gauze over the sutures. “You really haven’t been paying attention.” He starts stowing the supplies as Steve gently tests the stitches. Lavi seems to be doing a habitual inventory as he tucks things back on shelves and into drawers. It’s familiar, but not anything he’s ever seen a kid do before.

“Good luck. And, seriously, catch some Zs,” Lavi calls back with a jaunty wave, “just because you can run on less sleep doesn’t mean you can handle less REM.”

Steve watches him leave and sighs.

“Would you like me to direct you to your room Captain Rogers?” asks Stark’s AI.

“If you would be so kind to, JARVIS.”

Lights flick on down the hall, low and unobtrusive but guiding the way all the same. In the odd and silent corridor, Steve feels more out of place than ever.

At Lavi's said Natasha's in. She’ll be happy to see him.

 

* * *

 

Natasha is not happy to see him. She, in fact, halfheartedly tries to stab him over her oatmeal.

The kid from last night neatly laughs himself sick as Steve hastily scoots away.

“You’re just a bit too early,” Lavi chides mirthfully as he slides a mug across the breakfast bar to an expressionless Natasha. Whatever’s in it looks black as sin and nothing at all like coffee but she drags it over in a vise-like grip.

Lavi cocks a grin at him. “Try again in a bit?”

Steve’s just gonna do that. Natasha doesn’t look frantic the way Clint sometimes gets, but he still feels like she’ll knife him in the kidneys without remorse if he makes any overtures towards her…drink. Steve casually notes the pot that it came out of so he can make sure he never ever drinks anything from it under any circumstances whatsoever.

Lavi passes him his own bowl of oatmeal then leans over the bar. “The ribs all good?”

“Uh,” Steve shuffles his things before getting everything settled, “Yeah. Right as rain.”

“Nice,” says the kid as he dishes up another bowl, setting it on the counter with another mug of battery acid coffee. “I’m off,” he grabs a bottle of fluorescent green liquid out of the fridge before shooting Steve a contemplative look. “See you later?”

Steve gives Lavi a small wave and Natasha mumbles something in Russian at him and he laughs again as he heads out.

That just leave Steve with the oatmeal, Natasha, and the coffee. Out of the three, the oatmeal seems the least inherently dangerous. It’s good, too. Hearty, with raisins and bananas.

Something about having breakfast with one of his bleary eyed teammates is settling though. Steve’s been missing this: the casual camaraderie, surrounded with his fellows and their cheery or grumpy morning dispositions, a calm reprieve before the hectic day ahead and—

“Oh god, when did you get here.”

Steve stiffens but Stark loses interest almost immediately in favor of the bowl on the counter.

“Shit. Tasha, that is the _best kid._

Natasha grunts. It is very unladylike but still mildly affirmative.

Tony tugs over his coffee and oatmeal, then pauses to squint at her. “Is Barton off beating him up again?”

“Clint’s at the range.”

“Again?”

“He’s trying to figure out why the new bow is bothering him.” Natasha’s voice is flat and low with the edge of a burr. Maybe she’s just  _really, really_ tired; not that Steve blames her, that Vienna thing'd looked _nuts_. “Sparring is for tomorrow. He’s got a schedule, Stark.”

Tony levels a socket wrench at her, then blinks at it. “Huh,” he mutters, looking unsure of where it came from, “well I know what’s on his regiment and what days have what. I just don’t currently know what day it is.”

“It’s, ah, it’s Friday.” Steve hesitantly cuts in.

“Woah,” Tony starts at his voice, tuning a bewildered look on him. “Right, you. When did you even show up and why did no one tell me. Really dropping the ball on me here, JARVIS,” he calls to the ceiling.

«I believe, Sir, that the AC/DC was simply too loud for you to hear at the time» is the dry response.

“Good point and that reminds me that I'm not caffeinated enough for this. JARVIS, get me to deal with this later, will you? I’m gonna go crash.” Tony turns back around and grabs his mug and bowl as he slouches his way out. “Try not to kill anyone Romanoff—”

“Bite me, Stark.”

“And tell Barton to visit the lab later so we can go over the model,” he calls over his shoulder.

“Mm,” says Natasha. Then she steals Steve’s oatmeal.

 

* * *

 

Bruce and Thor had made sense. Bruce because Tony’d been fostering a burning desire to get the man into his labs that had almost rivaled how much he’d wanted to push Captain America down a flight of stairs and Thor because, well. Even Fury’s not dense enough to think that he’d be able to house _Thor_ in a super top secret SHIELD complex or something.

So yeah, hotel Stark at your service.

Clint though was because after one mission he’d scooped Hawkeye off his perch for delivery as per usual then promptly forgot about him on his way to the tower and crashing for twelve hours. He’d found Clint the next morning eating all of his cereal and arguing with one of his coffee machines. The voice-activated single serve one was always a bit tetchy but it made the best espressos.

Natasha had just…shown up. He has no idea when, but one day he’d ran into her at fuck-all-o'clock of the morning in one of the lounges, binge-watching Leverage, and realized she’d been there for a while.

At that point, as Tony went through with JARVIS to order all the odds and ends he’d need for the rest of them, he’s set one up for Cap and Coulson too. Why fight the inevitable.

Now, he watches as Rogers packs up and gets ready to jet. The angle from the camera is weird as shit but he can still feel the awkward radiating off of him. His all-clear call had just come in from Coulson so Rogers is on his way to the compound, then who knows where. Back to D.C. probably.

He takes a sip from his mug as Lavi waves Rogers off with a fluttery farewell and gets a small smile in return.

“JARVIS,” Tony asks.

«Of course Sir»

JARVIS’s voice still sounds oddly tinny through secondhand speakers, but seeing Cap jump at the sound of his voice is at least a little funny.

_«_ _I hope you enjoyed your stay Captain Rogers; please feel free to avail yourself of your quarters here at any time»_

That’ll have to be good enough for now. Stubborn bastard.

 

* * *

 

It’s not as hard as most people think. Or really, it’s not as complicated. You just introduce one or two people, drop a few ideas, put on a little show. You pull a few strings. Engineer and call in a few favors. Stand in the right place at the right time to be seen by the right people, simple stuff.

In the end you just kind of…watch, as things fall into place—no one has to know you were ever really involved in the first place.

And that’s what happened in Vienna.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> btw I'm currently smashing my way through my new game+ in complete chaos mode. what the fuck. I distinctly remember whining petulantly when aru sat me down with berseria and spending the first hour or so griping about questionable character design elements and dead weight assholes who hang around and gossip without helping me fight.
> 
> …then we kidnapped a small child and I started losing my shit. 
> 
> I—look, if any of you haven’t played a tales game before don’t jump into one _unless you’re ready for the repercussions_ , ok? it’s worth it but damn guys, you’ve been warned.
> 
> all that aside, mcu steve is…hard ugh. he’s what stalled this up before I crashed into ToB hell.


	6. Schoolyard Rumble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in celebration of the recent dgm update, I rearranged some chapters and escalated my update schedule! yayy! It was really nice to see those idiots again but, know who wasn’t there? Lena and Link! so here’s a long-ish chapter of that for ya.
> 
> oh yeah, also: I touched up the last chapter a bit so you might wanna skim it. at the very least, you should catch the end; I added a tidbit at the end that ties a couple of things together. 
> 
> that aside, have fun!

Sam has seen a lot of things on his jogs through this park— _a lot_ okay, he met Captain America here—but this kinda takes the cake.

It’s Friday afternoon, just hitting the hour where all the kids swarm out to take advantage of the weather. It’s why he does his runs a bit later sometimes, the mornings are good for clearing his head but it’s also nice to see the community brighten up with the days.

This isn’t really the type of youthful springtime energy that he was expecting.

In the grass behind his habitual bench is a group of small children being beaten up by an even smaller child. The tiny girl in the purple skirt is effortlessly pounding the boys into the fresh spring mud.

Sam can’t quite hear what the argument is about but it seems…emphatic. Also, over. He can’t help but stare a bit as the slip of a girl dusts off her hands and slings a bright purple backpack on, adjusting the straps and brushing off her skirt. And then her eyes snap up and meet his.

Her gaze is curious at first, then some sort of recognition clicks, her eyes crinkling with amusement as she offers a rueful smile.

Turning back to the boys she announces loftily, “I’m going home.”

“Going back to your—” one of them hisses as he clutches at his bloody nose.

“Say anything mean about Link and I’ll punch you in the teeth.” She doesn’t even bother to glare at the boy, just flounces off trailing green ribbons and Implications behind her.

Okay.

 

* * *

  

“Mister Wilson!”

Meeting this kid during his Friday runs at his bench might start to become a habit—and Sam really doesn’t know how to feel about that. Just, what? How does she even know who he is? This time though, she’s not actively beating anyone up. She is, however, liberally coated with dirt. 

“Miiiister Wilson, I found a kitten!”

Yeah, he noticed. It’s just as dirty as she is and he can tell because she basically just shoved the thing in his face.

“Mom said we can’t keep one because of Dad’s allergies which makes sense and last time she came back from a meeting she said something about Miss Alice thinking about getting a cat and, look! Now you can give her this one.” Then she smiles. Adorably.

“Um,” he responded creatively, trying to catch up.

“Here,” she cheerfully forces the kitten into his arms, “Link said he wanted to get home early so we could wash my skirt before the stains set so I have to go now thanks byeee!” She steamrolls over him with a barrage of words then runs off, literally leaving Sam in her dust.

That girl could probably give Steve a run for his money because she’s gone before he can process what just happened.

The kitten, obvious, gnaws Sam’s thumb and mewes. _Adorably_. Alice _would_ like it, too. He’s not sure if that makes this entire thing more or less weird.

 

* * *

 

 “I said shut up and _listen._ ”

“And _I_ said—ouch!”

Sam braces himself as he turns the bend to the bench and—yup. She’s here again, hands fisted in a boy’s shirt collar, tugging his face down to hers. They’ve apparently de-escalated from yelling to hissing at each other, both glaring full throttle while a light-haired boy with a nasty looking scrape on his shin half lays on the ground, hands clutching a grass-stained knee and looking almost bored.

“So what!” a bruise is starting to form on the standing boy’s jaw, visible even through his dusky skin. He winces a little as he shouts then lowers his voice. “It doesn’t even _matter._ ”

“Does too! You can’t just do stuff like that, even if it’s something small!”

“It was just a small dumb thing!”

She jabs a finger into the other boy’s chest. “And what if it wasn’t? What if it’d hurt someone real bad!?”

“It  _won’t._ ”

“It could!”

The boy sprawled in the grass rolls his eyes as the other boy growls back at her.

She quiets. “It might. Do you really wanna risk it?”

He flinches at that, dropping his gaze. “I—I’m just…”

“Um, Lena.” The kid on the ground looks a bit hesitant to interrupt but also utterly exasperated. “I think I’m bleeding.”

“What?” She whirls around then tugs off her backpack, dropping to her knees and unzipping a compartment in one smooth motion. “Why didn’t you—! _Argh_.” Even as she digs through the bag, her hand snaps out behind her to grab the other boy’s wrist when he inches away. “You’re helping, Reza,” she decrees.

He slides forwards obediently, darting a look at the other boy then ducking his head, murmuring an apology.

“Lemme see, Lin.” The girl peers at the boy’s leg then rips open one of the square packets she’s pulled out. “Here, look. If something’s bleeding you gotta disinfect it.” She hands Reza the alcohol wipe before pulling out a strip of band-aids “And Link said blood is a class two biohazard.”

The blond boy, Lin, winces a bit at the antiseptic. “What a biohaz—um, thing?”

Reza looks a bit worried at that. “Something that makes you sick,” he gives the cuts a nervous extra wipe, “I think.”

“Yeah, if you don’t clean it, it can get gross.” She tosses Reza a tube of—is that Neosporin? Damn, she really does have all her bases covered.

Lin laughs. “You’d know, you’ve always got band-aids on, Lena,” he teases as she carefully bandages up his cuts.

She huffs and smiles widely it the both of them. “C’mon, we have an ice pack at my house and Link got this new thing for cakes.”

“Wait, really?”

“Why are his cookies so good, they’re better than my _mom’s._ ”

“Reza,” she says, looking at him solemnly as she helps Lin to his feet, “Link’s better than _anyone’s_  momat baking.”

The girl catches a look at Sam as she stands and she waves with a grin.

Lin tucks his thumbs under his backpack straps and leans in to whisper to her. “You know him?”

A shrug. “Yeah, he knows my mom.” After a glance, the two boys trail after her and she bumps her shoulder against Reza’s. “Anyway, Dad said he was thinking about getting Link a con…con—” she frowns, “—conv-? Ugh I can’t remember, it’s some special oven for his birthday.”

“Aw man, you’re so lucky.”

She’s turned, walking backward in front of them and Sam catches her smug grin. “Yeah, I really am.”

Sam stretches out his legs, leaning back into the bench with closed eyes. So. That just happened.

 

* * *

  

Unlike last week, the argument this time seem to be…way more intense. _Extremely_ way more intense. Actually, it’s basically a brawl, who is he kidding. Seriously, the entire place is a mess of kids and at least three backpacks worth of papers and books strewn across the ground. Wow.

Someone reaches out and grabs one of the girl’s hair ribbons, yanking sharply and she growls, grabbing the wrist and twisting until he lets go. While the boy’s arm is pulled behind him, she whacks him in the side, toppling him over to join the others in the grass; a few of which seem dazed and another two with dried blood on their faces from now stemmed nosebleeds. One boy seems to decide the entire thing isn’t worth it, pulling his stuff together and scampering away.

“Why do you even care, it’s just a _bug!”_

“It’s a butterfly, and I _like_ butterflies,” she hisses, “but hurting anything for fun is _wrong_.”

“Ugh, shut _up!”_ One of the boys still standing reaches out to grab her, face red with anger.

She knocks the arm aside. “It’s _wrong,_ ” she snarls, pushing him back and sweeping his legs out from under him, then ducks under someone else’s fist. She shifts, raising a leg for a swift strike at someone’s side and—

“Lenalee,” cuts in the person that’s sitting on the bench, a teen with blond hair that’s tied back in a sharp braid, a traditionally styled messenger bag slung over one shoulder, and who Sam is just now noticing—he has no idea how he didn’t see him earlier, how even. He’s just sitting there, looking calmly collected as he idly leafs through an issue of Better Homes and Gardens. Because why not.

“No kicking please, Lenalee. We have enough things to do today and I’m not in the mood to administer first-aid.”

Lenalee looks over from where she now has one boy pinned to the ground with a knee “Sure!” she chirps, “how long?”

The boy flips a page. “Just finish up in a timely manner, if you would.” His voice has a touch of an English accent, everything about him seems prim and proper, almost bored even, in the face of the brawling chaos. Huh, maybe this was the brother she’d mentioned? He actually reminds Sam of some of the medics he served with, practically daring something to try and go wrong that they couldn’t fix.

The (supposed?) brother catches his eye as he stares and raises a single disaffected brow.

Maybe he’ll just keep going this time.

 

* * *

 

“Mister Wilson, what type of cookies do you like?” Lenalee barely lets him get to the bench before asking, bouncing on the balls of her feet with impatient energy. She is, oddly enough, a day early. He can see the boy off a bit behind her, a newspaper tucked under his arm and an eye on the two of them.

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon, we gotta jet—Thursdays are packed for us!” She dances from one foot to another and flashes him a grin. “C’mon, cookies! Favorite! Now!”

Oh geez right on the spot here, uh, “maybe…snickerdoodles, I guess?” Great, first thing to pop into his head is the gibberish cookie. Still, works though, they’re a classic.

“Oh, woah,” she leans back slightly, finally settling as she stares at him with wide eyes, surprised, “I’ve never heard of those. That’s,  _wow_ , that sounds great. Link loves new things.”

“Link?” Sam asks, gesturing at the watchful kid.

“Huh? Oh yeah, that’s Link,” She turns to give the boy a wave and he lifts a hand in response, “my brother.”

Nice, he was right. it’s good to know he's not actually losing his touch, these two are  _confusing_.

Her activity tracker-watch-thing chirps and she taps the face to check it. “Right, okay. Sorry Mister Wilson, gotta run!”

“Hey, kid, wait up,” he grabs her attention before she can sprint off at her habitual speed, one that he’s come to register as _stupidly fast._ “It’s just ‘Sam.’”

She beams. “See you tomorrow Sam!”

 

* * *

 

 They’re both sitting at the bench when he sees them the next day, Lenalee swinging her legs as she hums something under her breath and Link with a book propped open in one hand.

“And? How were they!” Lenalee prompts as Sam slows to a stop at the bench, pulling out his water bottle.

“…They?”

“The cookies at the center today! Link made them so I _know_ they were awesome, but still.”

“I—delicious?” There had indeed been cookies at the veterans’ meeting today and they  _had_ been _very, very_ good and Sara had _beamed_ at every complement…

It hits him all of a sudden: those are _Sara’s_ kids—Sara’s _kids_ , Howard and Lenalee _Li_. Sara’s been threatening to bring her daughter to the center for ages, _now_ he can see how it was actually a threat, that child is terrifying.

“Should I be telling Sara you’ve been fighting?” He’s actually asking, he really doesn’t know how to deal with this. It’s one thing if it’s random kids, but if he knows the family it might be some kind of parental responsibility. Maybe?

Luckily, or not, she seems just as bemused. “Uh, dunno,” she frowns before glancing over. “Link, should we tell Mom?”

“Somehow I doubt Sara will mind you deciding to administer justice on the sandlot.” Howard—no, _Link_ —responds dryly, not even looking up. And that is…probably true. Sara always did have a vicious streak when it came to her protective instincts, which had definitely saved more than a few members of her squad. Jesus, her having kids is surreal—these _kids_ are surreal to begin with but this is an entire other level of weird.

Lenalee shifts a bit, looking restless at just sitting around (Sam’s actually surprised it took this long, she’s a really active kid and he’s never seen her this still before), but Link cuts her off as she starts to inch forwards.

“If I see your foot touch the ground you won’t be training for a month,” Link cuts in as he tucks the book away in his messenger bag.

And now that he mentions it, Sam can see the sports wrap bracing the ankle of one shoeless foot, probably some sort of sprain. Man, he knew she was on track or something.

“Back to my piggyback ride?” she asks.

Link only snorts. “You’re not walking anywhere until tomorrow and you’re putting a compress on that when we get home.”

She wraps arms monkey-like around his neck and giggles as he hoists her up, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek as thanks before turning back to Sam.

“Here,” shifting her hold, she fishes a white paper parcel out of a dress pocket before pressing it into Sam’s hands, “we heard these are your _actual_ favorite, but we thought they wouldn’t be the best for a meeting; allergies, you know.”

“Thanks. Uh, heal up, kid,” he says, earning a lightning-quick smile from Link.

“Now,” she gestures with an extravagant flourish, “onward, my noble steed!” grinning when Link huffs just like a disgruntled horse.

“My knight in shining armor?” he teases under his breath.

“We can’t _all_ be tragic princesses like Allen, silly.” The shift in his expression is small, but the way it softens Link’s eyes makes him actually look the high schooler that he is. Lenalee gives his shoulders a squeeze. “See you next week!” she calls back to Sam with a jaunty wave.

“What does that make Kanda?” Link asks her, voice trailing off as he turns and makes for the Metro station.

“The dragon!”

Sam can’t help but be impressed at how he handles her, maneuvering without seeming to notice the extra weight despite being only three years older. He shakes his head, what has Sara been _feeding_ them?

Curious, he tugs open the tie for the paper bag to peer inside—and then Sam can’t help the smile. Peanut butter crunch, his actual favorite. How did they even know?

Those two are terrors, but they’re still starting to become one of the highlights of his week.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this, by the way, makes Lavi the bard, while Link is honestly more like the exasperated mage that makes sure they don’t all accidentally die in a fire.
> 
> if anyone has any details about the center Sam volunteers at, I would really appreciate if you passed it along?? I have only the barest of an idea of what’s going on so that part is subsequently vague.
> 
> anyway, did you know there’s supposed to be two years in between Avengers and Winter Soldier? I sure as hell didn’t—originally I was gonna let that pan out between this and the next major plot point but I'm not spanning two freaking years, Bucky can wait his turn.  
> also that SHIELD/HYDRA thing is nonsense. that crap is even more offensive in light of recent bullshit in the 616 continuity (and uh, current american happenings in general bc wtf) so fuck it. nazis fucking suck and aren’t infiltrating any of our institutions, fictional or not. just note that, yeah, they’re still around and doing dumb shit like trying to brainwash assassins and destroy everything we know and love etc, etc, whatever. god, even skrulls would’ve been better. 
> 
> Sam though, we’re keeping Sam; Sam is _great._


	7. Hammer Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoops this chap is short, dw i’ll make it up to you guys.

 

“Greetings little warrior! I have returned triumphant and with abundant spoils to bestow upon you!”

It seems redundant to say that Thor has a tendency to thunder. It doesn’t matter where Tony is on the floor, he’ll never miss a Thor entrance.

“No magical artifacts in the tower!” Tony shouts from the next room. He pokes his head around the corner to level a finger at Thor, “and nothing gets bestown unless it gets vetted. I know better, you know better.”

“Aye,” Thor nods solemnly, “I will submit them for Lady Potts’s approval before I gift any to the little Bookman.”

“But I do get to look at them first, right?” Lavi always sounds so gleeful about getting his hands on potentially catastrophic magical shit, it would worry Tony if it wasn't such a classic teenage boy thing.

“No touching,” Pepper warns as she strolls in. She glances up from her phone to give Lavi a look, “No testing and nothing that we don’t know what it’ll do; I don't want to pay for another entertainment room.”

“Aw Aunt V,” Lavi laughs, “it was only once. How was the Paris meeting?”

“Exhausting,” she smiles, “but successful.”

Well duh. “‘Course,” Tony chimes in as he passes by and gives Pepper a quick one-armed hug. “It’s Pep.”

She grins back at him before turning back to Lavi. “I did, however, manage to pick up one of those manuscripts you mentioned.”

His face lights up. “Really? Oh man, I’ll have to take a look later. Thankssss!” He looks stupidly excited for some dusty tome or another that he won’t even tell Tony the name of. Seriously, he made Pep a list on _paper_ and hasn’t let anyone else near it.

“Lady Jane has created a list for me upon this device,” Thor approaches Pepper respectfully and drops a USB drive into her hand, “it contains her findings on the artifacts I have brought with me today.” He gives Lavi a hearty pat on the back, careful to not bowl him over. “Come!” he booms, “let us assess how your warrior skills have progressed!”

Tony should really be more concerned about how many of the Avengers his kid ends up fighting.

 

* * *

 

Naturally, Thor and Lavi get along smashingly.

Tony wasn't there for the meet-and-greet but he did catch the tail end of their three-hour exuberant conversation that followed. About hammers. A very, very long, exhaustive conversation about war hammers.

Thor’s been promising (threatening) to bring Lavi his own when he finds one that’ll suit him. Tony just prays it’ll be one that won't cause too much structural or collateral damage. Pepper _really_ doesn’t want to replace another entertainment room.

Honestly, after he settled in, the kid seems to have adjusted really well. And his sense of humor is…wow, he laughs at just about everything? Tony had been really worried the kid’d die of oxygen deprivation when he was playing that weird historical jumpy assassin game—he’d literally thought the kid might die, it was so freaky.

And the thing with the _hammers,_ jesus Tony has like, zero questions about who Lavi’s favorite Avenger is. Absolutely none (and he is _not_ mad about it, shut up Pep).

“So,” Barton sidles up to Tony while they watch Thor and Lavi grinning as they spar, “have you ever noticed that Thor only calls the kid ‘Bookman?’”

It…huh. “You mean instead of ‘Man of Books,’ like the thing he does all the time to Coulson?”

“Yeah.”

“Well shit, hell if I know.”

“Man, why is your kid so weird, Stark.”

“Shut up, Barton.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let’s be honest, Lavi’s just here for the show. can you _imagine_ him playing asscreed? 
> 
> Anyway, if any of you dgm nerds would at all be interested in going into 616 [I](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/DAuREepXsAA4nwH.jpg) [would](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/DAuRlW9WAAAvhi1.jpg:large) [really](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/DAuSGnXXgAAggvb.jpg) [recommend](https://i.gyazo.com/ae67daf84db9e9f38dfbd036623ba0ae.jpg) [it](https://i.gyazo.com/fb1c184e85ef5088694a6ee4ba4af4a5.jpg). Comics might seem like a clusterfuck of impenetrable nonsense, but you can really just dive right in. Everything else is true tho, clusterfuck of nonsense all the way, but hey, you guys read dgm! I believe in you.
> 
> Me ‘n my comics co-conspirator would recommend [Avengers Assemble (2012)](http://readcomiconline.to/Comic/Avengers-Assemble-2012) and [New Avengers (2010)](http://readcomiconline.to/Comic/New-Avengers-2010). New Avengers is a bit earlier in continuity, but Avengers Assemble will have more familiar faces. If you just wanna jump into the most correlative spot [here](http://readcomiconline.to/Comic/Avengers-Assemble-2012/Issue-9?id=76508) is good.
> 
> Feel free to hmu for anything else tho, in case you haven’t noticed, _I really like to talk._


	8. Fuck You and Fuck This

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (ok, so: I was sliding back into batfamdom earlier, but I saw Thor: Ragnarok today with my broskis????? guys, if you haven’t, seriously fuckin treat yourself—it was amazing)
> 
>  
> 
> anyway, content warning for a fuckton of off-screen murder treated casually.
> 
> guess who guys

 

Kanda is really ready to get out of this place. If the situation were different, it’d almost be exciting, but instead, he’s just pissed it took this long. He’s also pretty pissed at the clusterfuck that he’s had to deal with during the last day or so. And at the alarms that won't shut up. And the bodies.

Maybe he's just pissed.

The console he’s been jabbing at finally lets out a disgruntled beep and disengages the locks so he can head back up through the labs. Fucking finally. He has to shift everything he’s holding to get a hand around the door and drag it open, but the bigger issue is going to be navigating around all the dead people between him and the way out. Christ, he hates being small.

As annoying as it is to be reminded of the last time he had to climb over corpses of scientists and guards, Kanda’s at least got the comfort of knowing that it wasn’t Alma who did it this time. That was all him. It also helps that these assholes are the type of people who apparently think it’s a _great_ idea to grow a bunch of children with metahuman abilities and then try to condition them to be emotionless killing machines at their beck and call.

Kanda’s life has been a shitshow three times over at this point and even he knows that's _exceptionally_ fucked up.

And stupid.

He’d cut outside comms first then stabbed anyone dumb enough to get in the way as he’d headed down to the cryo-pods. Figuring out how to open the damn thing _up_ had been a fucking hassle, but there's nothing stopping them from leaving at this point.

He’s just lucky that Alma’s finally settling down: more sobbing, less screaming. Kanda may be stronger than most people, even at this age, but it’s still awkward to carry someone just as big as you are. With one arm. When they’re having some kind of breakdown. And he's not letting go of the katana for a second—it may be shit compared to Mugen, but it’s still better than the trash Koumi had stocked in the armory and he wants a weapon on hand. Though it _is_ making it kinda tough to get through some parts of the compound.

“Open up you stupid fuck,” he growls at another keypad, shifting Alma more securely over his shoulder so he can punch the keys more accurately. He doesn't give a shit about titanium alloy doors with whatever encryptions, he’s getting out of here with Alma even if he has to wake up Mugen.

If there’s anything that could really be considered good about this time around over the last one, it’s that the training was really fucking thorough. So, among other things, Kanda isn’t leaving while knowing jack-shit all about the world at large. Societal norms were important if HYDRA wanted to unleash an army of tiny covert assassins on the public, after all.

Also, Alma’s being a lot less homicidal. So there’s something.

God he wishes he had a hair tie.

 

* * *

 

“How fast can you get a jet to our location.” It’s not a question. It’s a demand.

“Er…” that's not what Tony was expecting at all, “Tasha I—what?”

“Jet. Here. Yesterday.”

“Okay, what? Wasn’t there entire conversation about ‘no, Tony you can’t know anything about the hush-hush super secret SHIELD op’ and now you want me to help—”

Natasha hisses down the phone at him.

“Jeez, okay. JARVIS pull up the locators.” Tony’s tired of being confused but he’s learning to roll with it. Also he and Natasha seem to have worked out a system where she’ll actually take along a transmitter and Tony’ll only activate it from his end if it’s _really fucking important._

“Romanoff, what specs do you need; also, what?”

“Detention medical unit that fits two. Stark, the faster we can clear out of here the better.”

“Sit tight, it’ll be there soon” He’s not especially good at reading what little she lets slip, but Natasha sounds _way_ more tense than he’s used to hearing. Shit. “Shit, was there a fuck up? Are you bleeding—is Cap bleeding? Also, what?”

Her sigh is a little tinny through the comm but he can almost feel the stress roll off her. Whatever is worrying her is starting to get to him too. The Black Widow is known for being cool as ice even through catastrophes so this is a little unsettling. And scary.

“We found the base,” she admits eventually.

Wait really? “Already? I thought you guys were gonna have some kinda manly trek through the wilderness because our fancy trackers weren’t working.” They had literally just left this morning, there was no way they could have stumbled across it already. Unless, “Hey Tash, you guys good? I’m not gonna have to follow the burning and explosions?”

Another pause and then. “We’re fine. There’s just…a situation.” Well then, _that_ isn’t ominous at all. “Apparently, we were a bit late for all those explosions.”

Oh shit.

 

* * *

 

Steve is a little…concerned.

It’s not every day, after all, that he finds himself in a staring contest with a small, snarling child? Who is covered in blood. The decimated HYDRA compound probably isn't helping. Neither is the sword that's…also covered in blood.

Actually, it might just be that, on top of that whole package, the kid is glaring at him in a way that usually leads to violence with extreme prejudice while hovering in a guarded stance over another small child, who may or may not be having a panic attack.

Steve’s probably gonna just stay over here. It should help the kids calm down if he just keeps his distance and makes himself look as non-threatening as possible. He hopes.

Also, he really doesn’t want to get stabbed.

Something about the situation though is making him really uncomfortable, he hasn't felt this unsettled in a long, long time. He can even feel the edge of panic creeping over him and he can feel his breath start to catch and speed up even though he shouldn't have any problems his asthma is gone has been gone he should be fine why why why whywhy—

The one with the katana crouches down to the other kid and rests a gentle hand on their shoulder. “Alma,” their voice is quiet and steady (and deeper than Steve expected, a boy?), “breathe.”

And suddenly Steve can breathe too.

“Yuu, what,” they gasp.

“You were projecting.”

“I—shit. _Shit._ ” The boy with the sword wraps an arm around the other, who drops their head down on the boy’s shoulder with a shiver. “This sucks. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“That was awful, Yuu. Awful. How did we even…” They hiccup and the skin on their arms seems to churn and shift.

“Fuck if I know,” mutters the boy under his breath. “Think you should—?”

“Sleep it off?” A deep shuddering breath, “probably. Watch for me?”

“Yes.”

The other kid wraps their arms around the boy in a tight squeeze “Okay,” they sigh, “okay. Thanks, Yuu.”

Steve watches this all, budding panic being replaced by a deep concern. “Is everything ok?”

The boy cuts him a look. “He’s fine.”

Natasha slides back over to Steve’s side and casts a wary eye on them. “Will he still be projecting when he’s asleep?”

The boy palms the sword and slides it into a sheath on his back, then hauls the other kid into his arms and stands. “No.” His gaze is flat and unconcerned. “Why are you here, Widow.”

Steve tenses up and Natasha’s eyes narrow.

“I’m not here in that capacity—”

“Fuck, whatever. Okay then, what the Hell do you want, _Romanova._ ”

Wait a sec, “Romanova?”

“Not now Steve.” Her body is still mostly turned towards Steve as she eyes the two boys, suspicious, troubled, wary. “We’ve gathered that this is a HYDRA matter—”

“I already knew you had working eyes,” the kid snaps, “what the fuck do you _want._ ”

Steve shifts as Natasha quiets. “Well, we thought that…”

“We’d want you to come debrief at SHIELD headquarters,” she interrupts, meeting the boy’s eyes steadily, “at which point we can begin to address your situation.”

He doesn’t actually roll his eyes, but the derision is still really, really obvious. “Tch, lemme guess, protocol for this too?”

Natasha dips her head in affirmation.

The boy looks considering, pulling back some his hair from his face, but without something to hold it in place it just slips back to hang over his eyes, curling against his collarbones. Something about the gesture, whatever it is, makes Natasha stiffen then deliberately relax her muscles.

The kid snorts at that and hefts the other boy up a bit more securely in his arms.

“Sure, whatever.” He flashes a sarcastic smile, “take us to your leader.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright, I know you nerds were really thirsty for this so _here you go,_ though I’m pretty happy we got here too bc this is where the fun _really_ starts to pick up. just keep in mind that allen is even _more_ of a primadonna bitch—legit his [entrances](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/C_GVxVdVoAAe2rw.jpg) are [wild](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/C_GVxngUMAAwQLC.jpg)—so, y’know, might have to wait a bit… 
> 
> btw, you can basically blame that first scene for this entire mess. I’ve never really written much fanfic but that fucking scene would not get out of my head.
> 
> if any of you’re wondering about Alma’s gender identity, he’s fluid here, so just go by the pronoun that’s mentioned in the chapter (hence “he” in this case). or you can use “they” generally just to be safe (or if it gets complicated). there will be fic discourse in a later part, dw I gotchu guys.
> 
>  
> 
> (oh also! extra-long comments are extra fun? but also take me extra-long to get back to, I’ll get there eventually; questions, though, have a much faster turn-around time. regardless, thanks for all your support!!)

**Author's Note:**

> (no review necessary but commentary is nice. I have a hard time replying to them sometimes but know that every message legit leaves me rolling around on the floor with happiness. also feel free to crit me all you want, I love that shit.)


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